Zaphod Beeblebrox, Keeping up Appearances
by Spooky-Cactus
Summary: What does Zaphod really think about himself? Angsty, in an 'inner-turmoil' way rather than an 'unrequited love' way. This is my first go at this kind of fanfic, so please tell me what you think!


Keeping up Appearances  
  
AN: Just a little peek into the mind of the man whose ego is presumably the size of the Universe itself. I'll soon be doing versions for Red Dwarf's Ace and Blackadder's Flashheart, so look for them on my page (click my name) if you like what you see here.

Prologue  
  
The universe has seen many strange coincidences. The fact that what seemed to be the three most egotistic creatures in the Multiverse were all blond-haired men, two of whom wore flight jackets, is just another. But in their minds, deep down, did they think themselves as great as they liked people to think they did? Or is the truth a little different?...ZAPHOD BEEBLEBROX  
  
Zaphod Beeblebrox the Nothingth. That's what I am. My great-grandfather was right. Just another piece of smouldering space refuse that can't even manage plastic flowers. A stupid mindless layabout who even let people who used to be his friends manipulate him into operating on his own brains. A creature with self-esteem so low that I have to resort to insulting my semi-cousin's best friend just to make myself feel like I still have any effect on the universe I live in.  
  
Not that anyone would know I think like that though. They see the person I present to them - a ridiculous self-confident guy who thinks the Universe of himself. Not even Ford knows the whole truth, and he's my closest friend. My only real friend, really. People see me in the street, and they know who I am, but they don't _know_ me. Every time I get a compliment from a fan, or even an insult from someone calling me a zarking egomaniac I want to just turn around and tell the son of a Starbeast the truth, but I don't. I grin and acknowledge the compliment, or give one of my ultra-smooth replies. Gotta keep up appearances. That's what my mother - Alice Beeblebrox, my favourite mother - used to tell me. "Gotta keep up appearances. Otherwise I wouldn't be a Beeblebrox." She was a brilliant woman. She was a true Beeblebrox, but she was smart. Sensible. Like Ford. She's Ford's mother too I suppose, but I was the one she treated most like a son. Ford.. Ford just isn't a Beeblebrox. Traditionally a Beeblebrox - particularly a Zaphod, of which I am genetically the first but chronologically the last - has a wild childhood in Betelgeuse, then at about thirteen flies completely off the handle and begins having wild hippy adventures, drinking a lot, and generally being an annoying minor celebrity but no real danger to anyone. It's very dangerous to be danger to people, particularly dangerous ones. Another pearl of wisdom from A.B. Wish I'd taken it. Great-grandad fitted that description. No danger to anyone. Grandad did, although he was pushing it. Dad really kind of didn't, but at least he didn't get mixed up in politics. Sure, he ended up floating upside down in the sea somewhere, but at least it was self-inflicted. Besides, it was on Santraginus V, surrounded by about eight girls. What a way to go!  
  
But I had to get mixed up in politics. I agree with Great-grandad now. President of the Galaxy! What kind of job is that for a Beeblebrox? There was Zarniwoop, and Roosta. I only remember pieces - I damaged myself permanently when I mucked about with my brains. But I pieced stuff together. Zarniwoop was the ringleader. Persuaded me, the most infamous man in the universe, to operate on my brains so I would forget my time with him, and run for President. To steal the Heart of Gold. To find the man who ruled the universe. And for what? To sit in a shack and listen to the loony rabbit on about his cat?  
  
So that's how I ended up like this. Floating in a semi-derelict ship powered by the revolutionary Infinite Improbability Drive with the police of half the Galaxy after me. And I hate myself. Hate myself for being used by those morons, and hate myself for getting myself into this mess, and dragging Ford and the Monkeyman and Trill down with me.  
  
But mostly, I hate myself because tomorrow I will get off the ship again, disguised, but not so disguised that people can't tell I'm me, and when people compliment me or insult me, I'll acknowledge them calmly or give them one of my ultra-smooth comebacks, because no matter what I want, I'm Zaphod Beeblebrox. It's like my catchphrase. "Didn't I tell you, baby? I'm Zaphod Beeblebrox!" There's no escape from who I am. Even the way I talk has Beeblebrox written all over it. I've seen the future. There are Beeblebroxologists who devote their professional lives to the study of me. I want to tell them that I'm not worth it. I want to tell a lot of people a lot of things. I want to tell Ford how much I've always appreciated him being there. That I respect him - just not very much, that's all. I want to tell Monkeyman... Arthur that I'm sorry I let the Vogons blow up his planet. I want to tell Trillian that I really did care about her, but the person I am wouldn't let me love her, how ever much I wanted to. The person that I am has no time for anyone but himself, and because of him I have a superiority complex, and an inferiority complex about it. Gag'd be thrilled at the thought of that.  
  
I want to tell all those people all those things, but I don't.  
  
Because I've gotta keep up appearances. Otherwise I wouldn't be a Beeblebrox. I don't know what I would be, but I'm to pathetic to try and find out.  
  
So I keep up appearances. Gotta keep up appearances.

* * *

Tell me what you think? 


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